


on the edge of your smile

by wormguts



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Anniversary of Jason Todd's Death, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Guilty Bruce Wayne, Implied Sexual Content, Jason Todd Deserves Happiness, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Resurrected Jason Todd, i guess, ok they all do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:27:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28123089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wormguts/pseuds/wormguts
Summary: Jason laughs again, a soft, sad little sound. "Don't look at me like I just smacked you. I came back, okay?"When Bruce can’t respond, can’t summon the courage to do anything but watch his hands shake in his lap, Jason quietly sets the bottle aside and scoots forward. Slowly, like Bruce is a scared animal.“Bruce,” he says, quiet. Bruce can only close his eyes and breathe. “I’m fine. I came back.”
Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 3
Kudos: 139





	on the edge of your smile

**Author's Note:**

> self-indulgent fluff  
> dedicated to crying_jaybird on twitter !

Jason doesn’t smile the same.

Jason’s smiles were always easy. Light, happy, innocent little things that tugged at Bruce’s heartstrings and wormed their way into his affections without even trying. His smiles for Bruce, for his Batman, were... pure, in a way. Untainted by the brutality of his death, the filth of his life before the manor. They made Bruce feel warm.

Red Hood’s smile makes Bruce cold all over.

It’s vicious. Not altogether as unfeeling as it is insensitive. He smiles like it’s another weapon he can hurl at Bruce. Like one blow isn’t enough to send Bruce spiraling.

“What, cat got your tongue?” he leers, arms crossed against his chest, hip against the wall. He smiles like it’s funny, like he isn’t driving a flame-hot fire poker deeper into the open wound in Bruce’s chest.

Bruce says, “What do you want?” because he’s too much of a coward to ask what he should.

Jason’s smile doesn’t falter. “Thought I’d pop in, see how the old place is doing…” he trails off with a glance around the Cave. Bruce sits on the edge of his seat (both literally and figuratively) while the man takes in the state of the place: the papers strewn about the desk and floor, the half-empty (half-full) bottle of Bourbon, Bruce’s pajamas. Finally, his gaze comes to rest on Bruce’s face, and his expression sours. “Guess I missed the Welcome Home party, huh?”

Ah.

Jason laughs, apropos of nothing. “Chillax, old man. I didn’t expect you to remember, anyway.”

Bruce frowns to hide his grimace. He didn’t forget. He never forgets. Some days he thinks that's the worst part. There are people out there who will never experience the loss he has, and here Bruce sits, drowning in booze with a dead kid on his conscience. How the fuck could he ever forget what that feels like?

Of course, Bruce won't ever be able to vocalize that gut-wrenching guilt, so he sips his bourbon like the coward he is and leaves it at that.

Jason doesn’t seem phased by Bruce’s general inability to tolerate anything within five yards of _feelings_. He collapses on the desk with a little sigh, eyeing the bourbon. Bruce snatches it out of his reach before he can get his sticky fingers on it. Jason protests like he always does at being babied ("I'm of age, you stingy fuck!"), and Bruce doesn’t even think about how much he missed Jason.

“You’re a party pooper, you know that, right? Let a guy celebrate his own death how he wants to!”

Bruce cringes before he can stop it. Jason’s keen eye picks up on it and chases it like a shark at the scent of blood.

“Shouldn’t we be celebrating _together_? Since, you know, my death kinda _was_ both our faults…” again, he trails off, but he watches Bruce in anticipation this time. Perhaps he expects some outward show of Bruce's inner turmoil. Maybe that's why he showed up today of all days. Maybe he feels invalidated by Bruce's incompetence.

One dead child is one too many.

"Jason," he starts, then stops himself. The room spins slightly as he shakes his head. This won't do. Jason's looking for a fight, gunning for it like he always does when he's close to pushing Bruce past the breaking point. But Bruce doesn't want to fight. He never does. He wants the boy he lost back.

"What?" Jason spits. "Don't say I'm wrong."

"It wasn't your fault." Because that's the important thing here, not the glaringly obvious.

Jason scoffs. “Okay, yeah, and I'm Oprah's cousin.”

“It was my fault. I wasn't fast enough, I wasn't—” No, that’s not right. “I shouldn't have left you. I should have... I should've been there for you."

Jason's eyes linger on Bruce for a long moment before they stray to the bourbon again. "You sure I can't have some of that? This is a three-shot conversation, minimum.”

Another sigh, but Bruce relents, if only to keep him around longer.

Jason takes two swigs of the auburn liquid before he can look Bruce in the eye again. His cheeks are a light shade of pink, but Bruce doesn’t think that’s because of the alcohol.

“I don’t care," he says, eyebrows squished in a serious frown, "it doesn't matter. Who was at fault, who should've done what. Who cares? It's done with. I died."

Oh.

Jason laughs again, a soft, sad little sound. "Don't look at me like I just smacked you. I came back, okay?"

When Bruce can’t respond, can’t summon the courage to do anything but watch his hands shake in his lap, Jason quietly sets the bottle aside and scoots forward. Slowly, like Bruce is a scared animal.

“Bruce,” he says, quiet. Bruce can only close his eyes and breathe. “I’m fine. I came back.”

Bruce has a hard time believing that.

“Look, if I was—if I wasn’t here, I wouldn’t be able to do this, would I?” He reaches forward and pokes Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce supposes no, he wouldn’t be able to do that. But this isn’t the first time his mind has played tricks on him. Especially on the anniversary.

He has to make sure.

“Jason?”

“Yeah, B?”

“Come here.”

Jason only hesitates for a second before he’s sliding off the desk and coming to a stop next to Bruce’s chair. The line of his smile bleeds hesitance and uncertainty. These are unfamiliar waters, after all.

He must anticipate a strike with the way his body jerks in alarm at Bruce’s touch. His eyes are wide, almost fear stricken. Bruce wants to hold him to his chest and never let go.

He settles for clasping Jason’s sweaty hand in his own. It wouldn’t do to spook him. It wouldn’t do at all.

Jason doesn’t say anything, simply lets Bruce feel the smooth skin of his palm against his scarred one. He watches Bruce, though. Oh, does he watch. His eyes are laser-focused on Bruce, watching, waiting for what Bruce decides to do next. There’s question enough in Jason’s unsteady posture. It’s almost shy, the way he stands there. It makes something dark churn in Bruce’s gut.

After a long, drawn out moment of silence, Jason squeezes his hand. In a whisper, he says, “I don’t want to fight tonight.”

Bruce wants to kiss him.

“Can I…?” He gently pulls Jason towards him with a raised brow. Jason comes willingly, slotting himself between Bruce’s spread legs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Bruce hums lowly, his free hand brushing the bare skin of Jason’s forearm. “Let’s not fight. Not tonight.”

Jason stares down at him with an unreadable expression. It doesn’t escape Bruce’s notice that the boy’s cheeks are still flushed.

“Come here,” Bruce murmurs, and Jason crawls into his lap with a quiet huff. Arms curl around his shoulders, a sweet, blushing face pressing into the crook of his neck. He's almost as large as Bruce and nearly as heavy, but it will be a cold day in hell before Bruce lets that stop him. He holds Jason tight and doesn’t dare question why Jason is allowing this.

 _“Bruce,”_ Jason breathes, lips brushing against his skin, and Bruce has to grip the boy’s waist to keep from doing something monumentally stupid.

“I’m here,” Bruce says. He tries to keep the overwhelming need to keep Jason close like this under wraps. He tries, jesus he _tries_. But he can feel his resolve slipping away right before his eyes when Jason crows pathetically, snuggling impossibly closer.

“Bruce, I—is this okay?”

Fuck. He sounds so unsure. As though this were anything _but_ okay.

 _He has no idea,_ Bruce thinks. _He has no idea what I want to do to him. What I’d do **for** him._

“Of course it is. It always is, Jay.”

Jason exhales shakily. “Can we stay like this?”

_That’s all I’ve ever wanted._

“Yes.”

Jason seems content to do just that, to curl up on Bruce’s lap and breathe him in. And Bruce is fine with that, he is, but he can’t help picturing what Jason would do if he knew the full extent of Bruce’s affection.

“Jay?”

“Mn?”

He hesitates. If he speaks his mind… He knows what will happen. They will fight, and Jason’s mouth will twist into that cruel bastard of a smile, and a piece of Bruce will break like every time before it. He can’t handle that. Not tonight.

Except it’s been an infinite number of _not tonight_ ’s that have plagued him for years. He lost Jason because of his own ineptitude once; he won’t let that happen again.

“Can I… will you let me take you to bed?”

It’s out and he can’t take it back. He holds his breath, silently begging the universe to forgive him his selfishness. To let him repay his transgressions. To let him have this one thing.

Slowly, Jason sits up, peering down at Bruce.

Bruce thinks his heart might stop.

The boy’s pupils are blown wide. A look of wonder settles on his face, softening it, letting Bruce see a reflection of his own devotion there. He looks… he looks like the Jay Bruce lost.

And then Jason smiles. It’s a soft, shy little thing. It sits on his lips like a gift, a promise. It’s the smile Bruce has spent a lifetime chasing.

“You'd better or I'll kick your ass.”

**Author's Note:**

> little oneshot for you >:]  
> drop kudos or whateva  
> scream at me on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/bedguts)


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